


I Don't Want to Be an Adult When I Grow Up

by MistyBeethoven



Series: Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic! [94]
Category: The Prince of Pennsylvania (1988)
Genre: Adulthood, Age Difference, Attraction, Big Brothers, Consensual Underage Sex, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Fear, Forbidden Love, Growing Up, Hand Jobs, Little Sisters, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Stories, Marijuana, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycles, Older Man/Younger Woman, Overweight, Pseudo-Incest, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Shyness, Step-Sibling Incest, Step-siblings, Underage Sex, Virginity, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: Rupert Marshetta, the former Prince of Pennsylvania, sets off into the world aiming never to be like the discontented adults that he spent an unhappy childhood enduring.Determined to collect enough money to see the world, Rupert returns home to meet the woman his father married and her two young daughters, his new step-sisters. Noting that the youngest, fat and shy, has a look of apprehension forever in her eyes, Rupert vows to himself to save the young girl from her insecurity and fears.However, as the years progress and he grows closer to his youngest little "sister", Rupert finds her fear hopping over to him instead as his feelings become decidedly unbrotherly and she begins to represent the very things he is running away from: responsibility, stability and love.
Relationships: Alexandra Headlee & Rupert Marshetta, Biker Girl/Rupert Marshetta, Carla Headlee & Alexandra & Trooper Joe, Carla Headlee/Rupert Marshetta, Carla Headlee/Trooper Joe, Gary Marshetta & Me, Pam Marshetta & Me, Pam Marshetta/Jack Sike, Rupert Marshetta & Gary Marshetta, Rupert Marshetta & Pam Marshetta, Rupert Marshetta & Roger Marshetta, Rupert Marshetta/Me
Series: Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic! [94]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589944
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	1. Vowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert Marshetta learns about his father's remarriage while collecting money for his desired world travels. Shortly before having collected enough to visit South America, he drops in on his new extended family only to become intrigued by his new little step-sister and the opportunity to help her overcome her shyness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the promised POP fic from Rupert's perspective.
> 
> I was supposed to work on the John Wick story but Rupert's thoughts entered my head and demanded I write them down before I forgot 'em. :/

Rupert Marshetta spent his first night in Pittsburgh making love to the beautiful, blonde biker chick whom had brought him there on the back of her motorcycle. He could never truly answer if he hadn't partially done it as recompense for the ride. Not that it was much in the form of a payment. A much older woman called Carla Headlee had once informed him that he was just in the beginning stages of being a good lover and that he had quite a while to go until he reached what she referred to as the dolphin stage.

Of course, Carla was the woman he really had been in love with. But she was on her way to Sacremento, California to see her kid, with her stupid patrolman boyfriend, by the time he was slipping inside of the tough woman closer to his own age.

Rupert had thrusted inside of the blonde, trying to tell from her noises if he was faring any better with her, but knowing even those could be unreliable. He'd heard his mother fake quite a few during her marriage to his dad, all when they had both assumed he had been fast asleep. Oftentimes, Rupert had wondered why, if _he_ could tell the woman's moans and cries had been as real as the Muppets, his father had been hopelessly lost to the fact.

Then later, he had wondered if listening to his parents copulation and analyzing it had been the cause or just the byproduct of his perceived weirdness.

Finished with his pretty companion, aware that he should be grateful to make love to a beautiful woman, Rupert had felt only vaguely satisfied as he had rolled over to his side in the room above the bar she had taken him to. He wasn't about to ask her how it had been, knowing it hadn't been all that great for him and thus fearing it had been the same for her.

When she had soon risen from the bed (long stained before them), changed back into her clothing and left without a goodbye that had pretty well answered the question anyway.

He had quite a lot to learn, apparently, before he reached the power of a motorcycle between a woman's legs.

* * *

Sex never was as satisfying as they told him it would be the boy learned, eighteen years old and on his own in a larger city than he was used to. It certainly was never as good as it had been with Carla. While his body sometimes reached a pinnacle of pleasure, his soul remained unmoved. This made him adopt a take it or leave it attitude to the whole thing. Although with his reported good looks many wanted him to take it and soon he could tell that the noises his lovers made were not feigned but the real artifacts of sucessful carnality. But it all really depended if he was in the mood or if the girl was on the pill or he had the spare change for a Trojan.

Becoming a father frightened him.

He had no desire to be like his parents or any of the adults he had studied surrounding him, stuck in loveless marriages with children to have to fend for when they were losers when it came to their own lives.

Months after his departure, Rupert heard from his mother, the sole member of the family whom he still communicated with, that she had finally gotten Gary Marshetta to divorce her and that she was heading off to Florida with her lover Jack.

"How'd dad take it?" Rupert asked in the loaded bar where he was working as a bartender, complete with fake I.D.

"He's the one who wanted it," Pam Marshetta replied.

Rupert had furrowed his brow wondering if the world was about to end now that his dad had finally come to his senses and admitted defeat.

A few months after that, Rupert,now working at a hardware store called "Toolz", heard that his father had remarried. The woman was a divorced mother of two young girls but Pam had not met any of them, only hearing the news second hand from her other son, Roger. "I guess, I should send the new Mrs. Marshetta a condolence card," Pam had joked, obviously still happy in her own new life. "Her existence is going to come to a halt under the reign of king Marshetta."

"Dad with two daughters?" her eldest son had replied with a bitter laugh. "Can you picture that? Maybe I should send my new sisters cards too."

The two freed former prisoners of Gary Marshetta's good intentions both started to laugh in unison, joyous in their exiles.

* * *

His life not exactly stellar, but the box hidden behind the pipe underneath the kitchen sink steadily filling with cash for a trip to South America and possibly the rest of the world too, Rupert wondered one March if he should go and meet his new extended family before he left the country. It seemed only the most reasonable thing to do. If he died by drinking bad water or a drug deal gone wrong once he crossed the border, he wanted to be able to say he had made the acquaintance of his step family at least once.

And had seen his little brother one last time too, for that matter.

His dad was always optional. The man was, after all, the reason why he couldn't pass a fridge without becoming anxious these days.

One day found Rupert Marshetta abandoning his post at McDonald's to hop on his Norton (a used motorcycle which had still made a sizable dent in his travel savings) and he had headed back to his hometown full of trepidation and a small amount of excitement. When he pulled into the driveway, he was greeted not by strangers, however, but the two other Marshetta men he was familiar with.

His brother already out in a heartbeat, Rupert soon witnessed his father exiting the house where he had grown up. Removing his helmet, the middle Marshetta noted the flash of disappointment in his father's otherwise pleased eyes. The look stemmed from the fact that he was still sporting the weird half mohawk he had been wearing when he had last seen him, Rupert knew and secretly gloated.

"Rupert!" Roger was saying happily. "You're back."

"Son," Gary said and Rupert pondered if the man was trying to remind himself that the freak on the bike was actually that to him or honestly still considered him that after a kidnapping attempt gone awry..

"Dad," he said in return.

"Are you back to stay?" Roger asked.

"Nah, just a visit," Rupert replied and ignored the disappointment in Gary Marshetta's eyes.

"Rupert," the older man said. "Want to come in and say hello to your new step-mom and step-sisters."

"That's why I'm here," Rupert said, pointedly and enjoyed the momentary pain in his father's eyes.

"Well come in then," the ex-miner said, motioning both his sons back into the house.

They walked into the building he had once called home and Rupert's eyes immediately looked around the room, briefly intaking the three females and the various decorations like balloons and streamers hanging here and there before Gary began to make the formal introductions.

The new Mrs. Marshetta turned out to be a very beautiful woman about his dad's age. She was on the short side and had black, short hair and big blue, expressive eyes. He shook her hand, said he was glad to meet her before Gary introduced him to Tara, the older of his new step-sisters. She was a thin girl in her teens, short brown hair and a little stand offish. He said hello to her also. Eventually, his dad turned to the last of the new Marshettas to end the stage where the new women in his life were strangers.

"And this is Erin."

Rupert looked to where Erin was sitting on the floor by the coffee table. The girl was fat; her large body was surrounded by wrapping paper and she was staring at him. His nod hestitated as he took in her gaze. She looked absolutely terrified, like the animals he had seen on the road. It was that same look of fear when they witnessed a human being heading towards them on some rumbling beast that likely meant their harm or death.

It probably wasn't his dad that had given her that look though.

Rupert could easily remember his classmates targetting other kids in school whom had less weight on then his new little stepsister. They hurled words at them like fat, pig, elephant, porker and fatso; blunt, cruel words like bullets, meant to relieve their boredom.

But it was seeing such fear in eyes that resembled the her mother's that struck Rupert Marshetta. She was too fucking young to be so fucking terrified. Instinctively, he smiled at her, hoping it would be contagious and she might catch it and smile and look happy.

Instead she only looked down.

Doing the same, Rupert saw the wrapping paper and focused on it and the decorations. "Looks like I'm interrupting something," he stated.

"It's Erin's 12th birthday today," Gary stated.

"She's a _big_ girl now," Roger remarked, obviously intending it as a cruel double entendre. Rupert looked at his brother in disapproving irritation, realizing the boy was at the age where adopting the behavior of his peers was a hazard of school life.

"Well, I hate showing up to my new little sister's birthday without a present," the young man said, looking back at the birthday girl to apologize. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she mumbled shyly and Rupert saw another reason for that shyness: her teeth were adorning braces.

The thought went in and out of his mind, though, as he tried to think of something to give the chubby, insecure girl.

Hopefully, some small way to free her from her fear of him.

* * *

"You can stay here," Gary Marshetta said, showing him to a spare room. "For as long as you want."

"Thanks," his son said, sticking his hands into the pockets of his heavy, long jacket. Staying for long really wasn't on his itinerary, however. He just wanted to say hi before he resumed saving up his cash to get even farther away. Even now he could sense his father trying to get him to set up roots and be the responsible, " _normal_ " adult he desired him to be.

Something that wasn't about to happen.

"But I'll be going soon," Rupert remarked.

Gary took a deep breath. "Some of your stuff is still in the garage," he informed. "It's all in a box with your name."

"You mean you didn't place them in a portable _toilet_?" Rupert asked sharply. His father had once hidden a large sum of money in one of the damn things not too long ago and his son could not resist the jab.

"No," the older man stated, suprisingly unfazed by it. "And you don't have to worry...I won't handcuff you to the fridge this time either."

Rupert flinched. Apparently getting remarried had lightened his father up a bit. Why then did he feel so tense himself?

"We'll talk later," the elder Marshetta stated before closing the door and walking away.

"Yeah right," Rupert said, afraid of the fact.

His fear made him think about Erin again and his goal to relieve hers. Running a hand through his hair, Rupert walked to the door and counted to sixty, hoping that allowed his father enough time to make it down the hallway. The young man then opened the door and crept out to the garage.

* * *

Rapping on his youngest step-sister's door, Rupert fought the feeling that he was a creep. He barely knew the girl and yet there he was knocking on her door in secret and hoping nobody else saw him. He had to be over a decade older than she was and it seemed _wrong_ somehow. Still he told himself he wasn't a creep and his intentions were noble and pure so it was all cool.

"Who is it?" he heard her asking, her lack of shyness telling him that she thought it was either her mother or sister; somebody that she was comfortable with and trusted.

He almost hated having to disrupt that confidence by revealing her visitor's real identity.

"Rupert. You remember, the guy who was rude and interupted your birthday party and then made it worse by not showing up with a present?"

It took a few seconds before the door opened, revealing the shy, awkward, fat girl

"Here," he said, pushing the item he had just wrapped up in the evening paper's funny pages into her hand. "It's used. Hope you don't mind."

His own hands found his pockets again, as if they longed to hide as much as the fearful twelve year old in front of him. He stood watching her opening the present, feeling like scum again knowing how self conscious he was making her. Still the first step of freeing her from her timidity around him was being actually being around her. It would hopefully ease her out of her shyness a little until she was comfortable being around him.

The paper finally unwrapped, Rupert watched her looking at the present: his old copy of The Little Prince. That it had belonged to him once upon a time, the girl soon discovered as she opened the book and saw her new step-father's inscription to his then still precious and beloved son.

_**"To my own little Prince, love, Dad"** _

Written obviously when the man had foolishly seen one Rupert Marshetta as the Prince of Pennsylvania.

"Dad gave it to me when I was a kid," he explained. "It's a good book though, at any age. Even for someone on the dangerous edge of being a teenager."

"It's yours," Erin argued.

"And I know it by heart," the former prince smiled. "What? Am I supposed to keep it to give to my children? I'm not planning on having any. Maybe you can give it to yours though."

It was the first time he'd ever confessed that vow to anybody, but he thought the secret was probably safe in the mind of a girl so painfully shy she could barely open her mouth.

She met his eyes and tried to offer him a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Erin," he replied with a nod. "Happy Birthday."

He gave her another smile and she returned it with a bit of bravery and self hatred at its corners before he turned and left.

 _"I'll fix that,"_ Rupert made another vow. _"I'll have her being bold and confident before she's spit out into that world of deceit and straight jackets. She'll be just like my own real little sister and I'll be her real big brother and take care of her and give her the courage she needs to survive the world..."_

Rupert stopped on his way back to his spare room to toss a glance to the bedroom where he used to listen to his mother fake her orgasms and his father foolishly believe the cries.

"But to never become an adult," Rupert mumbled to himself. "Because that way lies madness...madness and bullshit," he added, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> I watched "The Karate Kid" last night. It was a staple of my childhood. I had a little crush on Mr. Miyagi. My favorite scenes were and are as follows:
> 
> Mr. Miyagi defends Daniel against the Cobra Kais.  
> Mr. Miyagi grieves for his wife and child.  
> Mr. Miyagi heals Daniel at the tournament.  
> And Daniel using the Crane technique.
> 
> I used to practice doing that last one. If you can picture a fat little girl doing it, that was me.
> 
> There was also this time, when I was 11 or 12, that my new school designated each room into another "country" and sent us kids here and there to learn about them. I remember learning about Africa and enjoying it. They showed how a tribe that knew how to jump high into the air without bending their knees. 
> 
> I thought that it looked so cool that during recess I found this hidden little area of the playground and tried to do it. I was often alone sometimes so I could do that sort of thing. I didn't mind being alone though. It was when the other children noticed me and then bullied me that bothered me.
> 
> I tried and tried to jump without using my knees but couldn't. I sure had a lot of fun failing though! 
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO   
> :D <3


	2. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert takes it upon himself to free Erin from her fear and sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rupert wouldn't let me go! I had to update this again!
> 
> Dear Keanu;
> 
> I'm giving you two letters again. One you'll probably like the other you might not.
> 
> I had a dream last night that I was pregnant with your baby. Only you weren't there. You hadn't left me or anything you were just not anywhere in the dream so you might have been at work.
> 
> My main concern in the dream was that I was supposed to deliver our baby at home. Only my bedroom is such a mess, I decided to give birth on the living room floor. :/
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3

And so Rupert Marshetta's emancipation plot for his little step-sister had begun.

He tried to spend a bit of time with her whenever he could get away from Roger. Those moments increasing, the teenage boy eventually getting bored with him and choosing his own friends instead, Erin became almost his constant mission. He'd gotten her used to him gradually. If he could be near her without being too threatening or talkative she wouldn't mind his company too much, he soon realized. It was just like getting an animal to warm up to you. And that was what the other kids had turned her into: some skittish creature looking for the safest place to run too.

But he was starting to get _somewhere_ by the time the arguments with his dad started up.

One evening he had come across Erin reading a tiny copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "A Child's Garden of Verses" in the living room.

"You don't need glasses to read that?" he asked, sitting down on the couch next to her and taking the 2.5 square inch book gently out of her chubby, small hands.

"I _want_ glasses," she confessed shyly.

"You want _glasses_?" he turned and asked in shock, surprised she'd desire something else that would make her a target for ridicule.

She nodded. "Egon Spengler has glasses. I was so happy in third grade, the teacher thought I'd need them but I didn't."

Rupert studied her for a second, wondering about the strange crushes of little girls which made them want to mimic the object of their affection. Going to a safer topic, one not involving the female heart which would forever be a mystery to him, he jumped to the topic of poetry instead. "You know, I write poetry."

Her eyes widened a little in curiosity but not in doubt. "Can I read them?" she asked.

Rupert was about to answer yes when he remembered his latest ones. They were all about anger, nihilism, disappointment, women and sex. He looked away knowing that it was far from what a twelve year old girl should be reading. "Maybe one day," he said but knew it was a crock of shit. It disturbed him to think of his little sister reading about hopeless, nowhere carnality.

He might not be the Prince of Pennsylvania after abdicating the throne but Erin, he was determined, should be treated like a Princess.

"Would you let _me_ read them, Rupert?" both Erin and her step-brother heard the voice of Gary Marshetta asking and looked up to find the man standing there.

Rupert felt embarrassed and angered all at once. His father rarely asked to see his work and the possibility that the man had also been spying on his interaction with the young girl riled the youth. He'd never hurt his step-sister; his father should know him better than that.

"I didn't take poetry as being your thing, dad," Rupert replied.

Erin was looking nervously between both of them and Rupert hated his father a little bit more because he had instaneously evaporated all of his hard work. Sensing a lecture or clash coming, the young man turned to look at his step-sister, handing back the tiny book to her. "You'd better go and read this in your bedroom, Erin," he said kindly. "It won't be so noisy there."

She took the poetry book and hopped off of the couch. About to disappear down the hall she turned to look at him in concern and sympathy. He smiled at her. A completely genuine and natural act, unexpected in the face of the shitstorm he knew was coming. His smile gave her the strength to leave and he saw her walk out of his vision.

"I enjoy poetry," his father said. "But I know you have to be real _good_ to make it as a poet, Rupert."

"So, great, now you're telling me you think I'd suck?" Rupert asked.

"I won't know unless you let me read it," Gary Marshetta said.

The younger man felt his cheeks turning red. Giving his work to his father to read was only slightly less mortifying than his little sister reading it. "I don't think so," he had mumbled as he rose from the couch and bid his own hasty retreat to the room and his former prison master.

* * *

Another day came several days later, where Erin sat quietly watching him work on his bike. She was a quiet little helper whom could be counted on in a pinch to go and fetch what he needed whenever requested. She'd done it a few times but that afternoon she'd seemed distracted and upset.

Once when he'd asked for a cold Coke from the fridge, she'd brought back a cold cut instead. Rupert had eaten it, oily hands and all, so he would not hurt her feelings.

Wiping his hands off now on a greasy stained towel, he looked at her and finally asked, "Anything the matter."

"The March break will be gone soon," she had replied. "And so will you."

Rupert had turned his gaze down to the towel, making out abstract images in the stains. He saw his father's scowling countenance in one and heard words asked the day before.

Words the girl had obviously listened to

_"Well, what do you want to do with your life though, Rupert?"_

_"What I am doing. Figuring it out as I go along..."_

_"Why don't you do that here then? You can stay here and maybe..."_

_"No. This isn't my home anymore."_

Rupert suddenly saw the selfishness in his plan to make the girl more open. By becoming close to her it would inevitably cause her suffering when he had to leave. However, staying was never an option; not when his dad always degenerated into king, lord and master.

Thinking of getting both of their minds off of a sorrow they could not fix as easily as a motorcycle, Rupert stood, suddenly remembering one of his old favorite past times. He placed the dirty rag on the seat of his bike. "How about you and I go to the dump?" he asked.

"The dump?" she had asked.

"Yeah, the dump. You've ever been?"

"Only once where I used to live," Erin said, shaking her head. "The mother of this boy I used to like would go there. She was friends with my mom..."

Rupert thought again of girls and their hearts. It had taken him years to start becoming interested in the opposite sex and Carla had been the one he'd gone nuts for, an older woman with a drug habit. A damsel he thought he could help save. A wild spirit such as he viewed himself. Only she had wanted the man she'd never gotten over.

"What happened to the lucky guy?" Rupert half teased, trying not to think of what Carla and Trooper Joe were up to.

His step-sister had shrugged. "I don't know...I hope I never do."

He suffered a wave of something for her then, something more than interest or compassion. It lay in between what he felt for his mom and Carla. Erin was too big for her age and too thoughtful. It would do her no favors. Intelligence had never benefitted him anyway. It was probably better to be stupid and more sensory than anything else.

"Come on," he said, holding out his clean hand. "We're going scavenging."

She looked at the offered hand long and hard before she took it and they walked out together, side by side, in their jackets. Her hand was soft for its fat. He saw her looking at their linked hands with an odd expression. "Do you mind?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I used to hold Tara's hand around the schoolyard when I was smaller until she got old and wouldn't let me."

Rupert looked down into her upturned face and her large, beautiful and still timid eyes. He thought of becoming an adult again and how their was maturity and stupidity and how everybody confused the two. "Well you can hold _mine_ ," he stated.

She smiled at him; staring at it, Rupert felt that it was the warmest thing he had experienced all day.

* * *

They found some pretty cool items, Erin getting more into the game as time wore on. She'd bring him certain items and he could tell from her expression how she hoped to please him with each discovery. This made him happy too. It was nice to have someone care that much about him without any lectures, expectations or responsibilities. Still he only accepted the things that interested him. While he was trying to make her less frightened, it wouldn't be helpful to just humour her and make her believe that people would always _want_ what you had to give them. In the end, Carla had chosen Joe over him. He didn't want to trick Erin into believing in some fairytale like he had. Fooling her into being weak was not an option; he wanted her to be strong.

As the sky was turning dark, they returned to the garage and started to decorate it. Watching her chubby figure walk about the space, Rupert understood clearly how much he would miss her when he had to leave. An event which was becoming more and more inevitable as his dad was pressuring him to stay.

But he'd gone and fucked himself up real good by friending the almost friendless girl, forgetting that his state was almost identical to hers. Now he had given him something to regret having to leave, something he had neither expected nor wanted.

* * *

"Need I remind you that you were the one to kidnap me, Rupert?" Gary was saying after they had been inadvertently placed in the same room and a simple conversation had turned into an argument.

"No," Rupert snapped. "So what? Are you gonna call the cops on me. You know, finally finding a way to keep me here."

"I want you to stay because you _want_ to," his father retaliated. "I hate worrying about what's happening with you out there."

"No, you hate not being able to control me. You finally had the sense to let go of mom; why can't you do that with me?"

Something in Gary Marshetta's eyes seemed to betray that all the pain with Pam and Jack Sike had been unearthed with the invocation of his ex-wife's name, until the new Mrs. Marshetta entered the room and her husband tried his best to hide it. Seizing the opportunity, Rupert slipped away to the garage, aiming to get to his bike and slip right out of the whole fucking little town.

Only Erin then entered the room, catching him before he could manage to do it. She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears, each a droplet of pain in eyes which had moved him the moment he had first met them.

"I have to leave, you get that right?" he asked, as she came and stood to his side, letting him view her pain closer.

"Yes," she said. "Everything here seems like the pinball machine my dad used to have in the basement..." Rupert felt confusion at the analogy until she explained it better, refusing to look at him as she did. "Now you're the shiny ball about to fall down and out of my life..."

Finally her eyes met his. "Game over."

Understanding a little more, Rupert smiled. He touched her nose, trying to make her laugh. "I'll be back. I haven't saved up enough cash yet to see the world like I want."

That was true. A trip to South America was somewhat in sight, but crossing the ocean was nowhere in sight.

She seemed relieved but then she surprised both of them by throwing her arms around his neck in an abrupt act of love and desperation.

"Fuck, Erin, you're making this awful difficult to go," Rupert said before hugging her tightly back.

Her body in his arms, he suddenly felt that her small, large frame was weighing him down, trying to keep him in the garage and make him similarly so heavy that he wouldn't be able to go. She was creeping into his pores, trying to reach his heart; which if she reached would make everything only worse.

So that could not happen, Rupert Marshetta let go of Erin immediately. She stumbled backwards allowing him the space and time to start the Norton and speed away without once turning to look back.

* * *

Back in Pittsburgh, Rupert found himself contacting his mother a few days after his return. He couldn't explain why but he felt like he needed the time to process everything that had happened. Turned out, his mom had her own issues she was dealing with. Her voice sounded distracted and when he finally asked about Jack she replied that he was out.

"Out _where_?" the son asked the mother.

"At the bar with some friends," came the reply but Rupert wasn't sure Pam believed it herself. However, she quickly avoided any further questions by asking, "And how were the new women in your father's life?"

"Cool," the young man replied. "I...I liked the youngest one in particular," Rupert added. "Erin. She was interesting...cute and big...shy has hell from it too."

After the words were out, he felt embarrassed for some reason. He looked to his boots and realized how scuffed and dirty they were.

"Aww...did she bring out those old protective urges in my Rupert?" his mother asked, no doubt remembering his desire to be Carla Headlee's own knight in shining armour. "Did you play the part of big brother?"

"Yeah," he replied still staring at his shoes and trying to ignore the guilt he felt over not having turned to look at the girl as he was leaving.

"I'm sure she appreciated it, honey," Pam said but then the line went dead for five seconds before she stated, "Look, I hear Jack coming in. I'd better let you go."

"Yeah, fine," Rupert said, grateful for the interruption. "Talk to you later."

"You too. Love you, Rupert."

"I love you too, mom," he said before hanging up.

Even though he was saved from talking anymore about his new step-family, particularly Erin, Rupert still felt guilty. He put the phone down on the nightstand by his bed and then went to the bar two blocks away from his apartment.

Two women at there seemed interested in him, a rail thin and aloof blonde and also her chunky, friendly brunette friend. He chose the former without thinking about it at all, took her home and then fucked her, making her give him repeated signs that he was now a dolphin and not a tadpole.

And as she lay in the bed sleeping afterwards, Rupert went to the desk and wrote out a poem about the unfairness of life. Then, putting it away, feeling like a hypocrite, he began a letter to Erin, including a short poem and a happy face at the end of it to try to make his speedy departure up to her and hoping to make her saddened face happy too.


	3. Pillion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert takes Erin for a ride on his motorcycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating this one again because this whole month has been weird with my heart. Hopefully, I'll get back to updating in the regular flow next week! I am happy to report though that my heart is feeling better today. Only a few twitches and pains near the start but nothing right now. That is the first time in weeks. 
> 
> I received the call for my ecg/ekg yesterday. It will be here in 3 weeks. Maybe by then my heart will feel all better. Than I will just look like a nutter. But I'd happily take that over having heart failure or the like!
> 
> Keanu, I wish you could have helped me with this. I had to research the bike stuff and about big girls riding pillion. I wish I could ride with you someday, then I'd have first hand experience. Please forgive me for anything that is wrong here and overlook it, if at all possible.

Rupert made it a point to mark March 8th on his calendar and always be present for his youngest step-sister's birthday. He also always made sure to bring a gift for Tara too. However, he thought that this ploy was seen right through; the older girl glared at him, not out of jealousy but general protectiveness for her own little sister. Rupert had used the excuse that it coincided with the March break so he could spend time with his family, but while the adults bought it Tara never did. She knew that his attention was focused solely on Erin and doubted his motives while his father and her mother never thought much of it.

The girl kept an eye on him in the beginning, suspicious of what he was up to.

However, Tara always ended up relenting, seeing how truly happy her sibling was to see him. Although, Rupert forever was aware that if anything happened or Erin made any indication to her older sister that he had hurt her in any way, Tara would be running to the adults in a second.

Erin obviously looked forward to seeing him and they shared a close and unusual relationship. They were both more or less on the same wave length, despite their differences in sex. It felt like a respite from the world whenever they were with each other, like they could place it on hold and exist outside of it for a few special weeks.

He liked the feeling so much, he found himself visiting more often, even in the summer when he would take her to the beach. The next two years were soon marked with sporadic visits.

"How's school?" he asked her once, back at the vehicle dump and rifling through the debris and forsaken automobiles.

"I can't wait until it's all done with," she confessed, finding an old doll in the back seat of an abandoned station wagon. It had brown hair, like her own, and a wedding dress. She studied it, pulling on the bottom of the dress so that it covered her legs. "You left early; I wish I could."

"You should stay," he said, not knowing why he was giving her advice he hadn't even followed and sounding too much like his dad for his own comfort.

"I'll stay because I hate it anytime my mom receives a call from the attendance office that I'm always absent," she said, holding the doll to her chest and rocking it like a child.

Rupert looked away quickly, his attention having inadvertently been drawn to her breasts by the action. His face felt hot despite the remnants of a quickly fading winter in the air. She was fifteen but she had developed early, no doubt aided by her weight. He felt suddenly weird and wrong and angry that the other Marshettas had let him take his little step-sister out so easily and without a second thought. Tara was more responsible with her scowls and watchful eyes.

He looked around, finding a religious statue on the dashboard and remembering when he had given one to Carla, trying not to think of the fact that he was alone with Erin and that she was a little more grown up then when he had first met her. When he felt a hand on his back, Rupert nearly jumped.

"Are you okay?" he heard the girl he was trying to forget about ask.

"I'm fine," he replied, not turning to look at her.

"You're quiet," she stated, her defense for bothering him.

He _was_ quiet; he was also confused and feeling guilty for reasons he could not express to her. Rupert found some courage to look over his shoulder and into her eyes. She was looking frightened again, turning the blame in on herself. Knowing he had caused it, he tried to calm himself a little. She was so young still. Her developing didn't change that. Or the fact that he liked _older_ women like Carla, whom he had never completely gotten over.

"I'm fine, Erin," he said. "I was just remembering when I used to visit here. I collected stuff for this woman named Carla. She ran the local drive-in..."

Erin read his expression like his mother often read palms. "You _liked_ her."

"I loved her," he replied.

"What happened?" the girl asked, some strange expression on her face that looked in a word, _uncomfortable_.

"She went off to California with some guy she never got over."

Erin frowned. "Everybody seems to not be able to get over someone."

"You usually need to find someone else...you ever get over Jordan?" Rupert asked, finding her uncomfortable expression almost jumping over to his face.

She gazed at him for a long time, her pale cheeks turning pink, and then bit her lip, chewing it for a few seconds. "Yeah," she replied and Rupert almost felt that he knew what she meant.

* * *

Although his father had stopped pestering him as much, Rupert knew his days at the Marshetta household were drawing to an end. Roger no longer even begged for him to stay but took his comings and goings like holidays he soon became bored of. Only Erin seemed to plead with him silently with her nice, pretty eyes to stay just a _little_ longer.

And though she made him want to, Rupert Marshetta would not allow it.

However, before his next grand departure, he had a surprise for the girl.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her hand one evening after supper.

She followed him willingly and Rupert wondered if he were to lead her over a cliff if she'd follow him too.

He led her to the desired place in the garage and they stood together looking at his motorcycle.

"It's your bike, Rupert," she commented, having already seen it a million times.

"It's you _on_ my bike," he said, grabbing her by the waist and pushing ger onto the back. "You're fifteen; you're officially one year too late to come with me now."

"To Pittsburgh?" she asked, in hopeful, excited anxiety.

"No," he laughed bitterly. "Dad and your mom would have me in the local prison faster than I could find my next job...No, just around town."

She looked at him shyly and then to the motorcycle. "I'm too big," she argued.

It was true: someone larger on the back wasn't a good idea when riding two up. However, Rupert still figured that he outweighed Erin, at this stage, being several inches taller. "No, you aren't," he said.

When she looked at him and smiled, he felt suddenly happy. Seeing the helmet closeby he handed it to her. He didn't really believe in the things, but somehow, the thought of Erin's face hitting the pavement seemed devastating to him and he wanted to offer her some kind of protection against it.

"But you..." she was arguing and he ignored it, sitting down in the seat ahead of her.

"From all my vast intelligence, my head is hard anyway," he argued. "I'll hurt the road before it ever hurts me."

Her hands wrapped around his middle and she held him tightly, as if she wished to be his seatbelt. "I'm always worried about you on this," she confessed, her cheek up against his back.

His mother had felt the same way, Rupert thought; always worried he'd tumble off somewhere and be lying on the side of the road with his spleen halfway out. Now his little step-sister revealed she did too. He found he didn't like the added weight of her concern. The more people that offered you their caring, the more it weighed you down. Then you had to start thinking of _them_ everytime you wanted to do something; you had to start being responsible.

He'd been both responsible and irresponsible and it all equaled out to about the same in his life: nowhere.

Still with the young woman's arms around him, and her affection like some chain, it felt like he should be thinking of being cautious.

So, in retaliation he started the motorcycle up and headed on to the road.

Erin's added weight _was_ different. She wasn't the thin creatures he had ridden with before, and he was trying to learn all over again how to manage it.

She sensed his difficulty. "See, I'm too fat," she wailed from behind him.

"You're okay," he shouted back. "Just do what I tell you to."

He was aware of her body and tried to equate it with his own, the Norton some beast that he had to try to make behave. "Move your legs to my hips," he instructed. "Place them against my outer thighs!"

She complied almost instantly, wanting to help him out. Rupert felt her legs pressing against him; they were soft and strong, filled with her determination not to get them both killed. It helped. The bike was more wielding now and he almost felt as if they had become one rider instead of two separate entities, struggling each on their own.

"Whoo-hoo!" he cried out, laughing. "Now just stay still okay. Only move your eyes...and only then to where we are going."

"Okay," she whispered gently, a sound almost drowned out by the motor. If his ears hadn't become tuned into the sound of her voice long ago he might have missed the word.

They rode with success down the streets of the town, this time nobody shouting out to him that his ride was a mo-ped. Erin relaxed more the longer they rode and even Rupert found himself getting used to her being there. She was warm and as soft as her chubby legs were. Only when he unwillingly focused on her hands being close to his lap did he become tense again.

Something she felt almost immediately. "Am I doing something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he replied, believing that he had. "I'm just thinking of the lecture I'll get if your mother finds out."

"I won't tell her," Erin promised, nuzzling her head into his back.

 _"What else wouldn't she tell about?_ _Think her hand could go lower?_ " a voice suddenly asked inside of Rupert Marshetta's mind and he suddenly hated being a guy and how all thoughts seemed to end up in the gutter sooner or later. She was his step-sister, for fuck's sake! He pushed it aside, convincing himself that his body was just confused with Erin close behind him, felt and unseen, her legs and arms still about him and feeling good. If he could see her face, know that she was his little sister, all the dirty stuff would be gone and he could go back to being her protector and savior again, not somebody she might need protection from.

"We'd better go back," he said, hoping to place the girl in his line of vision, where he wouldn't get so confused, as quickly as he could.

He turned around the first chance he was given, realizing for the first time that he had unknowingly been driving out of town and towards Pittsburgh.

* * *

His hope of not being discovered flew out of the window as soon as he pulled up into the driveway. His father and step-mother were waiting in the garage looking extremely pissed off. He wasn't sure how they had found out about his motorcycle excursion but he'd have bet it was probably his other step-sister's doing.

And as Erin slid her legs away from him, he was glad that she had in a way. 

"Erin, can you go to your room," Gary ordered. "Rupert, needs to learn a few things about what he's allowed to do around here."

"But I wanted to," Erin addressed her mother instead of her step-father, trying to help him and Rupert felt good and guilty all at once.

"You're fifteen," Eleanor said. "You're not _old_ enough to know better. But Rupert should."

The woman turned her usually amused eyes on him and gave her step-son the first angry glare she had ever offered him during their brief amicable interactions. He quickly looked to his father and could tell that the oldest Marshetta had received his fair share of livid stares and heated words already.

"I _know_ that I wanted to," Erin tried again.

"Go to your bedroom!" her mother hissed and Erin turned to him.

Rupert grabbed the helmet the girl handed over to him. They shared a fleeting moment of understanding and Erin offered him a smile for some strength. Rupert accepted it, gave her a nod and watched her leave the garage.

When she was gone both parents began to lit into him and he could barely defend himself, only finding one second where he was allowed to say, "I let her have my helmet," feebly.

"That's not what the issue is," Gary returned. "You get permission first, Rupert."

"Mine," Eleanor piped up, her face turning red. "He's your son but Erin is my daughter."

Rupert felt his discomfort growing. First being reminded of Erin's age and then having her mother looking like she was on the verge of getting ready to kill him. As if instead of riding his stupid bike they had been...

Trying to get away from the thought, Rupert started the engine up to the bike.

"RUPERT!" Gary raised his voice to be heard as his anger simultaneously grew.

"I don't have to listen to this," Rupert said, looking between both adults. "It was just a fucking ride nothing more. I'm a grown man not a kid."

"NOT IF YOU TAKE MY DAUGHTER ON THAT THING!" Eleanor shouted.

"AND NOT IF YOU RUN AWAY FROM FACING UP TO YOUR ACTIONS!" Gary joined in on the condemnation and that was it.

Rupert drove out of the garage and away from the words of people whom just didn't get it. He'd send Erin a postcard with a proper goodbye and hopefully see her come Christmas when their folks had each calmed down.

Or maybe not.

Maybe it was best to just leave her alone.

* * *

As it was, the postcard Erin would receive had a postmark from Brazil. Having gone straight through Pennsylvania after collecting the cashbox out from under the sink, Rupert had found himself in New York City. He'd purchased a cheap round trip ticket to Brazil, placing his Norton safely in storage. His savings allowed for as much.

He wanted to be as far away from his dad, step-mom and little step-sister as possible.

The first chance he could, however, he found himself buying a card from a local tourist trap and sending it to her.

 _ **"Sorry I didn't say goodbye,"** _he wrote. **_"Had to leave in a hurry. You know how it is."_**

But she probably wouldn't. She was only fifteen and, as her mother had said, she probably didn't even know what she wanted.

That night, drunk out of his mind, Rupert grabbed hold of the average height, overweight local girl, that kept staring at him during a carnival. He took her into a side alley door and started to fuck her, hoping nobody would notice or care. Through the cloud in his thoughts, she seemed consenting enough and as he grabbed her large thighs, lifting her pretty, festive dress up over them, he tried to forget about Erin's own wrapped around his. When he had pulled the stranger's panties down and they fell the rest of the way into the dirt, he was already hard enough to enter her. It was different from what he was used to, her weight making it different, but it was also kind of nice. He pushed into her several times, while his mouth found her neck first and then her lips. She said a string of words he didn't understand but sounded approving enough and soon she cried as he came and the act was over with almost as quickly and unexpectedly as it started.

He placed her skirt down, seeing fluid dripping down her plump thigh and then met her eyes, brown and not gray-green like his fuzzy brain had pictured.

"Boa, boa!" she exclaimed, trying to pull him into another kiss.

Sobriety had seemed to partially come, however, with the shock of the color of her eyes.

"Sorry," Rupert Marshetta mumbled, removing her arms from around his neck.

He backed away first and then walked off into the night, stumbling and fixing with his fly.

* * *

"So are you heading back to Pennsylvania for Christmas?" Pam Marshetta asked her eldest son. They were sitting in the Miami house she shared with Jack, having listened to his talk about wanting to head back to New York maybe in the New Year.

"Why should I do that?" Rupert asked, knowing he had been considering it often. "Roger's off to college."

"I don't know," she mused. "Maybe to see Erin?"

Rupert stopped and stared at the placemat. He wondered why everbody chose such stupid ones with flowers. Weren't there any other designs?

"C'mon all you ever do is talk about her, Rupert," Pam stated, sipping from her coffee cup. "How well you get along...how she's not as _shy_ anymore. You'd think it was you and her against the world the way you go on."

"And is that weird?" Rupert asked, suddenly raising his head to meet her eyes.

She smiled and laughed.

"No, I mean it," Rupert asked, knowing she had taken it as a joke when he was dead serious. "Is it weird that I like spending time with her? That besides you and Roger she means the most to me?"

Pam placed her cup down on the table. "Well, if anyone else said it, I'd say yes," she answered. "But since it's _you_ , I'd say no. You care, Rupert. You've always cared about us girls: me, Carla now Erin. It isn't weird, it's sweet."

Rupert smiled without much conviction and the conversation was soon discarded as Jack showed up. He emerged from the bedroom, looking disheveled. Since he'd lost his job working as a contruction worker for J & H, he'd been staying out even later. Rupert could tell his mom was starting to miss the more ordered existence of Gary Marshetta and his staid dependability.

While the couple exchanged strained good afternoons, their young guest returned to his room, where he promptly thought about his father and the possibility of visiting him before heading to New York again. He wanted to think of Erin but tried not to. His feelings for her were like trying to find the right word to end a certain rhyme. Sometimes it never felt quite right while at others it fell right into place, a perfect fit.

This considered, the week before Christmas, Rupert was pulling into the driveway of the Marshettas. When the door opened almost immediately and Erin came rushing towards him, a large smile on her sweet face, he knew he had made the right decision. His heart felt lighter than it had for months and he put all of his confusion to the side as he took her in his arms, grateful for the weight of her love. At least, until the following month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> This is all over the place. Sorry about that.
> 
> I'm repeating myself again but I wish you had my mother, Keanu. She loved Tara and I so much. We were her world. I remember this one time after this boy named Craig almost hit Tara with a block of ice, and also knocked her best friend's tooth out with a hockey stick, Mom marched right over to the schoolyard with me. I was about 4 at the time. She asked the recess supervisor if Craig was inside of the school and the supervisor said yes, knowing what Mom had planned.
> 
> Well, mom found Craig in the basement. I remember she picked him up by his shirt and rammed him up into the wall. I watched on, silent and in awe, as she threatened him with a "If you ever hurt her again, I will come and get you, you little brat!"
> 
> She then dropped him and we went home.
> 
> He never did touch Tara again.
> 
> Mom wasn't just kind with her own children. Most of the kids loved her. There was this one bad boy called Johnny that she cared for. He was a bad boy. I shot him right between the eyes with a water pistol once when he came to the door. 
> 
> Well, Mom trusted him this one time to pick something up for her at the store; he bought candy instead. So she spanked him.
> 
> He said he hated her and wished she was dead before running off in a huff.
> 
> Only a few minutes later he returned with the bag of candy. "I'm sorry," he apologized, handing her the bag. "I love you."
> 
> She loved him too. She was one of the only adults whom actually did. 
> 
> They sent Johnny away for shock treatment sometime afterwards. When he came back he wasn't the same. He scaled the school one time and sat on top of it, just staring blankly off into space. Nobody could get him to come down.
> 
> It always breaks my heart to think of him up there and no longer the same boy. 
> 
> I dreamt of him the other night. He was all bound up and these other boys were taking him away. They accused him of some crime they weren't sure he had committed. So I set him free even though I was scared to.
> 
> I hope he's free wherever he is.
> 
> But, getting back on topic, I wish you and Kim had my mom in your life. Only then you'd be my brother. :/
> 
> On that track, I was reading an article discussing Wuthering Heights being about Emily Bronte's tormented feelings for her brother Branwell. The author seemed to think that this somehow took away from Emily and gave the credit to Branwell instead. I'm confused. Since when does the love and feelings of a great writer subtract from their genius? Graham Greene's "The End of the Affair" Eric Clapton's "Layla" were all written from the heart about their painful love for real women. 
> 
> It's offensive to me to think that a woman can't be allowed her own lusts and loves without being deemed weak for it. 
> 
> But I've been trying to read about the relationship between men and women and it confuses me, Keanu. I hardly have any experience. It all seems like a massive board game where there are too many rules. Do anything and you're very likely to lose. I know I'm gonna lose sooner or later anyway. I can only ever be myself and honest. So I'll go land in jail or just get out in the end. 
> 
> I also read that men see sex as being more physical than emotional. That I already knew, virgin that I am. What I didn't like was the insinuation that it was *always* that. I'd like to think sometimes a guy, when he's really in love, will make love from an emotional place. Believe me, I want a guy to get as much physical pleasure out of the whole thing that he can. That would be what would make it *good* for me. I also would like moments of just pure sex with the man I love. Moments of unexpected couplings, animal and passionate where we both got some release out of it, even violent or rough release. But I'd always want that sweetness to come back. The love. Please let that be possible.
> 
> I also want you to know that I'm not after your money, Keanu Reeves. I am solely after your body. You see this unused one of mine finds yours incredibly attractive and would like it to break mine in. Except it's not just your body I'm after; I want your mind and your heart and your soul too. So you see I'm not after your money at all but I'm greedy all the same.
> 
> And one more thing...if I have forgotten to tell you this recently, I am really proud of you, Keanu. You have done so well, fine sir. That guy in BRZRKR may sure look like you; he may be able to do all those fantastic things and be a half god and all but he comes nowhere close to being *you*. You're kind, smart, creative, funny, talented and you seem to give of yourself until I worry that you won't have anything left *for* yourself. I want you to know that. And I wish I could hug you and tell you all this but I read some people don't like being held and that's just another rule that I have to follow. 
> 
> But I still wish I could.
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3


	4. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert writes to an old love and sneaks into Erin's bedroom.

It was the greatest, most wretched joke created by the universe and directed against him, Rupert Marshetta kept telling himself that Christmas, that having preferred the company of adults throughout his youth that now his most cherished friend was a fifteen year old girl.

It was the truth, however, and he had to learn to deal with it.

That and his attraction.

He found himself falling back into the old pattern of being a big brother but dreaded those instances when something else flared, the hint of physical yearning or of a more insistent romantic connection. It wasn't constant. But whenever it disappeared and he reassured himself that he was just noticing she was maturing, it would soon return and he'd find himself asking those shadowed, unwanted areas of his heart why he should be able to manage with his little step-sister the affinity, closeness and comfort that eluded him in his relationships with the more appropriate women whom had entered his life and soon departed.

He began to make his own attempt at therapy by writing to the only other woman he had ever felt something as deeply for.

Sitting at the desk in his room he'd sit and write her a letter every day, during his stay, the first of which read.

_Dear Carla;_

_I miss you a lot._

_Was there a concrete reason why I never helped you get over Joe? Could you tell me? Or was it just the sex and the age thing?_

_I no longer think that I'm in the beginning stages of being a lover, whatever that was again. I think I am now sucessfully a dolphin. I'd ask you to grade me again but I think something's wrong with me._

_See, I think I'm even more fucked up then when you last saw me._

_I'm attracted to my little step-sister._

_Am I weird and gross?_

_I wish I would have taken you up on your offer of going to Sacremento._

_I'm dying inside here._

_yours truly,_  
_Rupert_

He wrote a dozen such letters but eventually ran out of paper. Seeking more, knowing Erin's love of writing and propensity for sketching, he went to her room once near the end of his stay. The girl was out with her mother and sister and the need for more paper was nothing more than an excuse, Rupert understood but could not let himself accept.

He simply wanted to see the room of his beloved stepsister.

Turning the doorknob, he crept in like a thief of privacy and space, looking at the place he had only usually seen from the other side of the door.

The room was neither too girly nor not feminine enough; blue in shade. There were pretty things mixed with not so pretty things. There was a poster of Sherilyn Fenn advertising "Twin Peaks" on the wall, done in black and white Lynchian photography. Erin had once told him how she thought the actress whom played Audrey Horne was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She'd also confessed that sge had longed to be Jessica Rabbit when she grew up.

Rupert looked at the curvy form of Sherilyn on display, the camera lingering on her bountiful cleavage, and suddenly did not know what to make of it all. It was just sad, he guessed. A fat little girl and teenager idolizing those she saw as more beautiful. It was the same thing maybe as boys wanting to be Batman, Superman Wolverine or any other muscular super hero. Youth seemed to be spent coveting a future that was rarely attainable.

He caught a glimpse of his own figure in the mirror then. He'd been told often that he was handsome, fine of face and form. It didn't really matter to him, was hardly convinced of it veracity, but did Erin look at him and find him too attractive for her?

Walking to the dresser, he studied the brush containing the strands of her long brown-auburn hair and noted the lack of other beauty accoutrements, such as make up, nail polish or the like. She envied beauty but was reticent to actually mimic the painted faces she adored. He'd asked her once why and was told all the gunk made her feel like she was suffocating somehow.

"What am I doing?" he asked, pulling strands out of the hairbrush. Not knowing where to put them he stuck them in his pant pocket and headed for the door when her bookshelf caught his eye.

Nothing gave away as much about a person as the books they read and kept. A movie was done in about two hours and could be seen and forgotten about. But a book needed investment of time and thought. He squatted down by the shelf and began to look at the titles, mentally marking which spines bore the most creases and thus betrayed having been owned for longer and read repeatedly. There were some Mary Higgins Clarks, Victoria Holts and Piers Anthonys but the majority of them were children or young adult novels. There was a lineup of Beatrix Potter's familiar small books; Louisa May Alcott books seemed to hold a special place in Erin's heart, especially one called "An Old Fashioned Girl" and another titled "Eight Cousins."

Besides these were Frances Hodson Burnett's "The Secret Garden" and "The Little Princess". Rupert was taking this last one out when his old copy of " The Little Prince" tumbled on to the floor. She had placed it fittingly beside its mate in title, her stelbrother realized. Staring at the cover with the instantly recogniziable artwork, simplistic but beautiful, Rupert was possessed by an urge to see the teenager's artwork as well.

The books she read went into her...Erin's art was what came out from her heart instead.

Although he felt a little guilty, he still went to her desk and started to go through the drawers. Of course, when he wasn't there, the girl was free to look through his stuff. It wouldn't take her very long, all being stuck in a box in the garage. He found the sketch book under the papers that he subsequently collected a few of and started rolling the sheets back from their coils, revealing the sketches. There were animals at the start, nice for her age but not jaw droppingly good. A tiger, a wolf...near the middle it turned into pictures of people and became much improved. The lead from the pencil was rubbing off on his fingers and he swore as he saw that he was smudging the clean spots on the paper. He was angry at himself and about to stop when he saw the next sketch.

His own face stared back in shades of gray. It was a younger photo of him, one when he was fifteen and still beloved in his father's eyes. Rupert Marshetta could tell Erin's own love she had put into the artwork. She'd spent more time on it then any of the others and he blinked three times, hard and in quick succession. Quickly, he placed it back just the same as before and left the bedroom, trying to forget about the image and how it had made him feel joyful.

And how that joy had been a weighty thing tempting him to stay.

His own attraction was one thing to have to carry; the girl's might drag him straight to hell.

* * *

Before he went out to mail the letters, Rupert phoned his mother.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Your sisters' holidays not over yet, huh?"

"No," the former Prince of Pennsylvania replied. He hated her tone and an insinuation he wasn't sure was there or only existed in his head. "I'll be going soon enough. Your friend still have the apartment on 42nd she'd be willing to let me stay at?"

"Sure," Pam replied. "But on the condition you come and see me before you head up that way."

"Done," her son replied, hearing for the first time in his voice a certain trace of sadness. "How was your Christmas?" he asked.

"Lonely," she replied all too quickly.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Erin asked standing at the back of the car which had just pulled into the driveway. Her mother and sister had gone back into the house and Rupert couldn't tell if even now they had their noses pressed up to the window pane.

On his bike, at the end of the driveway, he turned and looked at his stepsister from over his shoulder. He had been hoping that he would be able to leave without her knowing it. His mother had sucessfully reminded him all the more of the fact that he was starting to grow roots and he had the urge to pull them all out and shake the dirt off of them. But a large piece of earth was still sticking it seemed.

"I gotta mail some letters," he explained.

"I'm coming too!" Erin exclaimed, running and sitting behind him.

"No, you're not," Rupert said, blushing as she held him tightly.

"Just go," she instructed. "Before they come out and stop us."

To the man's surprise he acquiesced, neither of them in helmets; the wind bitingly cold but the street bare and accomodating.

* * *

They had said their goodbyes again once the letters had been mailed and he had dropped her back at almost the same spot from where he had initially taken her. "Don't you want to say goodbye to Gary?" she asked. It was either sincere or just a trick to get him to stay longer, Rupert knew.

"No," he answered. "You say goodbye to everyone else for me."

She nodded. Quickly like a breeze, Erin kissed him on his cheek and he was both grateful and eternally sorry that it was mostly frozen so he could not truly feel it.

Whether or not she felt the same when he returned the gesture, he wasn't sure. All he was certain of, as he drove away, was that there was water like salt on his tongue.

* * *

After Florida, Rupert drove straight to New York, not always easy on his Norton when he repeatedly encountered pavement covered in snow and ice. On his journey made complicated by Jack Frost, Rupert's thoughts constantly bounced from Erin to his mother.

Pam had confessed that things between her and Jack were quickly falling apart. She suspected he was having an affair or going to hookers or both. Over the holidays she'd seen him a total of three times and once, when she called at what was supposed to be his new place of work, she was informed that he had already left with a blonde.

"I'll kill him," she vowed.

"Think Lois said the same thing?" Rupert asked.

The brunette whom had raised him fixed him with an heated glare. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"That if he did it _once_ you can expect it again," her eldest had informed her.

Rupert entered New York City wishing that he hadn't needed to remind her of it. In a way, he was grateful the whole kidnapping scheme had gone bust though. It was better his mother learn now that Jack was a no good ass wipe than have him play the part of boyfriend until the cash had run out. He'd barely seen one red cent of Gary Marshetta's fortune thankfully.

At 42nd street, Rupert first went to see the landlord as instructed. Showing him the proper identification, the old man had led him to the apartment and the deal had been arranged. Now all that was needed was to secure a job in order to make the next months rent. Off to do just that, the former Pennsylvania resident stopped off at the mailbox and collected the pile of letters he'd mailed the day Erin had jumped on his cycle and he'd been tempted to just keep riding.

He opened the last one first:

_Dear Carla;_

_I think I'm in love with Erin._

_Please help me._

_yours, properly and throughly screwed,_

_Rupert_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> I know you believe in psychics but I've got to admit my own faith is slowly dwindling. If they were real, I'm starting to think they'd probably be rich instead of telling people's fortunes.
> 
> Once I googled the name for this series to see if it brought up anything, hoping it wouldn't. Well, I unfortunately found this blog with the same title. And I saw the extent of one fan's obsession for you. No offense, but why do you elicit such rabid devotion that make your fans so crazed? I can't quite figure it out. Is it the aloofness? The mystery? That you seem wounded somehow? I hope it's not just the beauty. 
> 
> Anyway, she led me to this psychic. Cuz, I used to believe in that stuff. I saw that same particular fan always there posting under several pseudonyms. It's fun to read her comments and to try to figure out which ones are her. She usually gives herself away. She must have a hundred emails, which I know is possible from my sister's experience over at Facebook. She's encountered these CHiPS fans whom have about twenty profiles each there. I'll be honest, Keanu, I have a few email addys myself. My original was at lycos (now defunct). But it's because they forced me to create one for YouTube. Then I got addicted to doing the quizzes over at Pottermore, seeing my House and Patronus. My OCD made me look for the perfect combination which I finally achieved with Ravenclaw and a Kingfisher. 
> 
> Back to your fan...I love how she'll post things loving you one minute and then deriding you the next. As if it is perfectly normal. Or how she changes her username constantly.
> 
> Only thing was I then foolishly got my hopes up when several people there kept referring to this oft repeated psychic prediction for the love of your life. You see, I fit most of the criteria. So, like some idiot I kept reading them, hoping that maybe it was me.
> 
> I saw this other psychic there. So I emailed her hoping she could tell me the answer to the question that has plagued me since Nov. 30. She was nice but I kind of doubt her ability to see and instinctively know. She told me that you weren't on Social Media. Sigh. Why does everyone go into a conversation believing I am inept? I read once that mostly everyone overestimates their intelligence. As the IQ test guy says, those whom are incompetent lack the competency to know that they are incompetent. My IQ falls into the 110-120 range but I always mistakenly assume people are smarter than I am and then end up paying for it.
> 
> Of course, I know you aren't on social media! It's been restated ad nauseam! If she was a psychic wouldn't she have known I knew that? You have stated, though, you use the IMDB to find out the dates of your films so that means you do go online. And AO3 is not technically a social media site...
> 
> I was also told to protect my work here. But I'm using other people's creations! I'm the one in the wrong. Besides, I gifted these all to you. Use them as you will...and if someone steals them and gets them published or made into films, let em. Then I can sue their sorry asses and they will have done the hard part of finding an agent, publisher etc... for me. Something I've had no luck with. :/
> 
> I don't know. I guess, I'm just going to have to let it go. Nobody's going to answer it for me. Do you know the singer Peter Ivers? He was murdered while he slept and they never found out who did it. It used to drive his girlfriend crazy. She started to have to view the identity of his killer as a room she had to walk by since she could never enter it.
> 
> What's sadly ironic about that is I think the person whom was the murderer was the same person whom told her about Peter's death. And if you know whom that was, Keanu, you will realize how sadly ironic it is that I am the one to say that.
> 
> But I'm going to have to give up looking for my own answer. It's either yes or no. In any case, it was someone whom cares for me. How can that be bad? Unless it's the "care" some of your fans feel for you.
> 
> But on the topic of psychics, I'm going to use my IQ instead. Chris Isaak once said God gave us a brain to be used. So not paying attention to one side of your fans in regards to the woman in your life, or the ones on the other side, and staying the lone wolf that I am, I think I know what's going on. I think I found the answer written down.
> 
> But whatever the case, I will support you, my dearest friend. And all I can say is, that whatever it is, I have to remember if it wasn't for you breaking my heart last year by not going stag, I wouldn't have felt the hopelessness and despair to write these tales. And then these stories, I'm quite happy with, never would have happened. Which means I also never would have had a question where the answer still might be yes. And thus never would have had the chance to have possibly been blessed.
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3


	5. Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert gets himself a girlfriend and an apology.

In a few weeks time, Rupert found himself with a semi steady girlfriend.

She was the waitress in the restaurant next to the convenience store where he'd been hired as a clerk. Alice was her name and she was about as far removed from Erin as he could get. She was an inch taller than him, as thin as a May pole, had chestnut eyes and straight, long hair she bleached to within an inch of its life. That was where most of her tips went to: her usual visitation to the salon. She was obsessed with her raven haired roots always appearing and would bug him about it constantly.

"Can you see them? Can you see them?" she'd ask of him, parting her hair to flash him a road he couldn't ride his bike down.

Other than that she was cool.

Alice, or Al as she wanted to be called, would drive around New York City with him after her shift ended and then they would return back to his mother's friend's apartment and then fuck each other's brains out. Neither of them were tadpoles but fully fledged dolphins and in the act of pure, unadulterated sexual bliss with the twenty seven year old Al, Rupert could forget about his love for the fifteen year old Erin.

Soon to be sixteen years old by the time he told Alice that he had to go back to Pennsylvania for his sister's birthday.

"Can I come?" Al had asked, sitting topless in bed and taking a puff of weed.

"No," he said, feeling like having the object of his cock and the object of his heart in the same room would make his brain explode. "I wouldn't want to upset her; my stepsister can be really shy."

" _Stepsister_?" the woman repeated, handing over the joint. "I thought you told me she was just your _sister_."

"Yeah," Rupert mumbled, taking it from her. "Guess I forgot the _step_ part." He hadn't forgotten it. He knew his lover would think it was odd going all the way to Pennsylvania just for a "step's" birthday, which she inevitably did.

Al laughed, neither an amused or cynical sound, as she grabbed the weed back out of his hand. "Shit...I don't even send my brother a card and we have the same fucking blood."

Rupert frowned, lying his head back on the pillow and waiting for the Mary Jane to make him high so his sense of discomfort could be blown to the sky.

"You two close?" Alice asked.

"Yeah," Rupert replied, closing his eyes.

"Ever take advantage of her? I used to have a cousin that did that..."

"No," Rupert answered with discomfort, thinking of Erin riding two up with him.

"Ever want to?"

"No," he lied, recalling the fat, nameless Brazilian girl he'd screwed in the alley and whom had begged him for more.

Alice said something else but she was forgotten about as the drug did what it was supposed to and Rupert Marshetta tried to imagine a world without women and all of the problems they presented.

* * *

Erin's sweet sixteen arrived and when it did, Rupert was there with both a gift and himself. He could tell that the latter meant more to his stepsister than the former, just another thing to make him feel guiltily giddy over. The visit was less awkward for him, though, now that he had a steady he was fucking back home on a regular basis. If he noticed Erin's breasts or her ass, he could just think of Alice's legal ones waiting for him in their New York City apartment. He'd engage in phone sex conversation with the waitress when everyone was asleep and found that he was comfortable around Erin when he woke up and they resumed their time spent together.

So what if he had an old song by one of the Beatles constantly running through his head whenever the girl was behind him on his motorcycle? It was manageable.

Less so was his relationship with his father.

Gary Marshetta seemed to be trying to become closer to him again and rebuild the partly demolished bridge between father and son. It wasn't exactly something that Rupert felt comfortable with, not to mention he was always on guard, waiting for an argument or life lesson.

The old man caught him about four days into his stay. There was no lecture this time. It was far worse, just as Rupert suspected: Gary Marshetta wanted to make amends.

The wealthy former miner had caught him in the garage. Rupert had the piston from his bike in his hand and was debating on whether it was time to replace it or not. Erin was off taking a bath, something he was trying not to think about too much, and Gary entered the area which should have been sacred, bringing with him all of his regrets and their warted past.

"I think I need to apologize to you, son," Gary stated, staring at him as if he was willing his offspring to meet his eyes. Rupert could sense the act but kept his eyes down, not falling for it.

"Apologize for what?" the younger man asked, still studying the piston.

"For failing you as a father," Gary stated. "I was too unweilding...too judgemental...I tried to fit you inside of a box just like I did with your things when you left and took that damn refrigerator door with you."

Rupert's hand faltered on the part of the engine for a second. It was nice in a way to hear the man, whom had both fathered him and broken him a little, saying he was sorry. Then his dad went and spoiled it by adding. "I must have failed you for you to haved done what you did to me, Rupert."

So there it was, Rupert thought, inwardly bristling. An apology offered to coax one in return was hardly an apology at all.

"You want me to say I'm sorry, is that it?" Rupert mumbled as he walked back to the motorcycle and returned the part of the engine to its proper place.

"No," Gary said. "I just want an explanation...I want to _understand_."

Rupert met his father's eyes. They seemed utterly and hopelessly sincere. His father wanted an answer. The only problem was, with so much time having passed, the ones inside of Rupert Marshetta's mind were no longer quite as clear as they had once been. "Because I wanted the money more than I wanted your love," Rupert replied, coldly.

The older man flinched and Rupert hated the part of him that still loved his father suddenly unexpectedly bubbling to the surface with that single look of pure pain. "No...because I wanted Carla Headlee's love more than yours."

This Gary seemed better equipped at handling: that his son would desire a woman's love more than his father's. "That's fine," Gary stated. "It says that in the Bible: that a man should choose his woman over his parents."

Rupert squirmed, focusing more on his Norton.

"So, is there anyone new in your life now, Rupert?" Gary had to go and ask.

His son tried not to think of his overweight and now sixteen year old stepsister in the bathtub but focus on his hippiesh, vaguely Carla-ish, girlfriend back in the city.

"Yeah," Rupert stated. "I have someone named Al waiting to fuck me back in New York."

The look of shock on Gary Marshetta's face and the way that he almost hit the garage floor almost made the whole conversation worth it, Rupert Marshetta thought with a smile.

* * *

When Erin was out of the bath, she came to the garage to see him. Gary was long gone by then, realizing that there might be certain aspects of his son's life he wasn't equipped to handle yet, for all of his perceived tolerance. His stepsister smelled of a bar of Aveeno soap and her skin looked incredibly soft and tender, in stark contrast to his bike and everything else in the garage which was sharp, hard or angular. When she came to stand beside him, Rupert fought the urge to touch the pale bit of flesh on her shoulder that her sweater's collar did not hide. The urge to touch it with his lips was just as strong but he resisted this too by turning to face his motorcycle.

"Was Gary just in here?" she asked.

"You sensed that in the tub?" he asked.

"Tara told me," she replied. "Does that mean your're going soon?"

Rupert cocked his head back and replied without looking at her, "You know me so well."

That was the problem of course: she knew him probably too well. He'd heard it said that love was understanding once, that it lead to unconditional affection for it could always see, know, sympathize and show compassion. Erin knew him as he knew her and that had made him fall in love with her.

By the way her hand touched his as it rested on the handle clutch, it's water softened surface finally being wonderfully experienced, Rupert feared the feeling was mutual and it was best that he leave in a hurry so that she would be free from roots that would only suffocate and trap them both.

Rupert turned to face her and swallowed as he met her gray-green eyes.

"Goodbye Erin," he said, bending his head down to kiss the top of her own, complete with hair which remained all the same shade, from tip to root.

* * *

Another visit to Florida found his mother's relationship with Jack in no better condition. They were fighting all the time it seemed, using words that scarred and stung still long after they were no longer in the same room.

When Rupert told her about his father's apology, expecting they would have a laugh over it, Pam surprised and disappointed him when she seemed merely touched instead. "Gary actually apologized?" she asked, a strange, wistful smile on her face. It made her look very young again, akin to what she must gave looked like when she had first fallen in love with the King of Pennsylvania.

"Don't go idealizing him, mom," Rupert had warned. "He's still the same old Gary Marshetta underneath all the bullshit."

His words failed to work though. The King's long ago Queen looked like that was the very man she was yearning for.

* * *

Back in New York, Rupert found himself fired and soon washing dishes at the restaurant where Alice worked. She'd gotten him the gig, but he wasn't exactly ecstatic about seeing her throughout most of the day. Familiarity was breeding contempt and working together only to wind up going home together too was taking the bloom off of the rose. He was staying with her mainly due to obligation now and the fact that she was great in bed and could always find the best weed in the Big Apple.

Washing dishes late one night in May, Rupert caught a glimpse of his reflection in the sudsy wet plate that had once born a double bacon cheeseburger and fries. He saw his frown and general unhappiness and thought of his hidden stash of money that had stopped growing when he had found himself a girlfriend.

"And what do you want to be when you grow up?" he asked himself, adopting his best Gary Marshetta impersonation, for he could see their similarities now, given more prominence by the warped aspect of the reflection.

"Anything but _you_ ," Rupert confessed, pushing the plate back into the sink where he would no longer have to see the phantom father lurking inside of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> I missed writing to you yesterday because it was my fasting day. I've been doing it twice a week since January 15th. But after my stress test, I added excercise into the regimen. Only yesterday, after I exercised my hands become quite cold. :/ Is that a good thing? So, I tried to warm them up but they only became warm again by the end of the night. By then it was too late to finish this chapter so I painted two records instead for my local Vinyl store.
> 
> I also did some research for an upcoming fic. 
> 
> Funnily, it coincided with something I was thinking of only the night before...how secrets are never good to tell anyone because they can slip out; that people seem incapable of keeping one and compelled to divulge them. Which offers a hint to which fic I'm plotting out. I try not to let a secret out though. If someone trusts me with it, it's only honorable to hold it and keep it close.
> 
> But back to my getting fit mission...
> 
> I've been waiting to see a visual clue that I'm losing weight but hadn't until today when I looked in the mirror. My back *did* look thinner. Only it made my bum look really big. Which isn't a bad thing since I want a big butt. But still, why my back? Yoo Hoo! There's plenty of stuff to get rid of at the front here! >;/
> 
> I'm trying though. I'm also trying to walk faster because I heard if I increase my heart rate and breathing it will burn more calories. My heart's pretty well back to normal. I think it was the stress with the lockdown and other stuff around the holidays.
> 
> Or maybe because I stopped my fasting temporarily. 🤔
> 
> I used to be in better shape and walk places without getting tired. But after my mom died, both Tara and I hated leaving the house empty unless necessary. It didn't help that this one guy whom lived closeby and helped fix our roof, ripped us off of the excess shingles and 100 bucks. We learned soon after that his girlfriend stole $40,000 from her own relative! :O So, I guess, we got off lucky.
> 
> I used to walk about 2 miles to the local Walmart; now I just walk down the hill to my local Giant Tiger. I still wonder what your opinion is of GT though. Being Canadian, you'd have to be familiar with it.
> 
> Today, I stopped afterwards at the new Indian Restaurant across from it and bought some Honey Chilli potatoes. They were most excellent! I'm a potato nut. Yeah, it's carbs but, as I said, I'm not following a specific diet; I'm just fasting and exercising. That's it.
> 
> I'm glad that you've gone through different stages with your weight too. I read you referencing it as far back as the early nineties. You'll get what I'm talking about then. Although you seem to lose it far easier and faster than I do. Sigh.
> 
> Backtracking to GT, though, they are selling these portable greenhouses. It reminded me of Julianne Moore's character's demise in "The Hand that Rocks the Cradle" which led me to thinking about her in "The Fugitive". I usually dislike her in that for wanting to get Richard Kimble in trouble. Only today I had an epiphany and realized that she's right. She doesn't know what's going on; all she sees is a stranger taking a little boy somewhere where he's not supposed to. 
> 
> Damn straight she should be suspicious! I wish more people were like that and cared.
> 
> Does this all have a point, you might be wondering? Well kind of. I'll be watching "The Fugitive" on St. Patty's Day. That's the date of my rescheduled appointment with my sleep doctor. I'm happy because I get to play hooky from my CPAP machine for a while! Yay!
> 
> See! I still have a method to my madness. Not much of one, but still a method.
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3
> 
> P.S. You looked sexy on your motorcycle. Even your bird did. You looked sexy off of it too. I love when you smile. And I love the blue color of it. Your bike not your smile. Blue is my favorite color. I can get lost in it; it makes me feel at peace and always feels holy to me. Just like your smile. The peace and lost in it part, at least. The jury is still out on the holy part. No matter how many memes people create with you as Jesus. Sorry. I'm cheeky today. Must be the extra big butt. ;D <3


End file.
